


I'll Be the Blood if You'll Be the Bones

by Hyliari



Series: Lightning Kings [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Jaina Proudmoore/Thrall (implied) - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scratching, Sexual Content, Swordfighting, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliari/pseuds/Hyliari
Summary: Varian hates Garrosh. Garrosh hates Varian. But when they're forced into close quarters and not allowed to kill one another, that hate comes out in ways they never would have expected.Or: It's wotlk-era varrosh y'all know what the fuck is up ;^)Edit: new title for the work (AGAIN), from Wolves Without Teeth by Of Monsters and Men





	1. Fight!

**Author's Note:**

> “ ” is going to be common and « » is going to be orcish because fuck me I'm not writing “he said in orcish”/"he said in common" 5000 times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrosh and Varian can't agree on much, but when it comes to fighting, that's where they can find some common ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ ” is going to be common and « » is going to be orcish because fuck me I'm not writing “he said in orcish”/"he said in common" 5000 times

Varian storms out from the meeting, Garrosh close behind him. He feels Garrosh’s eyes on his back, feels anger and rage coursing through him. There’s a fight coming, and he knows it, took them outside to provoke it and get it over with. Garrosh is silent behind him, waiting to see what Varian will do. He makes the first move, not turning around as he snarls, “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Garrosh laughs, and it shoots through Varian like arrows piercing his skull. He wants to make it stop. He puts a hand on the hilt of his sword and grits his teeth.

“Well?”

“You won’t like what I have to say,” Garrosh laughs again, and this time, Varian turns to face him.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Varian hisses.

Garrosh’s eyes dart to where Varian grips his sword, but he doesn’t reach for his own weapons as he brings his gaze back to Varian’s face. “You’re a coward.”

Varian sighs, lets his hand drop. “Really? That’s it? That’s not even a new one.” Anger still burns through Varian, looking for an outlet. He had been expecting a fight. He _wanted_ a fight. Anything to shut Garrosh up.

Garrosh continues anyway. “Deals and treaties,” he groans, “what are those going to do to stop the scourge? You’ve seen my soldiers fight, you’ve seen _me_ fight. The Horde should be in control of this, while you humans stay back like the good-for-nothing scum you are. First we’ll crush the scourge, and then we’ll come for your Alliance. Or maybe even the other way around.”

“If you think fighting alone is what wins wars, it’s no wonder you’re a shit leader,” Varian grinds out. “Go out there, then. Conquer all of Northrend and defeat the Lich King in single combat. I’ll make sure to piss on your grave when it’s over.”

Garrosh’s eyes narrow in a glare and he advances on Varian, looming over him. “Humans are frail, you wouldn’t stand a chance without the might of the Horde.”

“Neither would you,” Varian says. “Without the Horde backing you, what are you? Just some pathetic orc with no family, a disgraced, fractured clan, no one to care about whatever orders you want to give.”

Garrosh does reach for his weapons, then, drawing them out half-way before Varian has Shalamayne out and ready, faster than Garrosh can see.

“Go on then,” Varian taunts him, just barely keeping a smile at bay, “show me what you are without the Horde. Show me what you think will end this war.”

Garrosh readies his axes and charges at Varian with a yell, running right past him as Varian waits until the last second to step to the side.

Varian smacks Garrosh on the back with the flat of his blade as he goes by, enough to bruise without seriously injuring him. “I’m over _here_ ,” he says, turning to face Garrosh.

Garrosh comes at him again, and again Varian dodges, leaving Garrosh to catch himself as he stumbles, off-balance.

“Is that how you’re going to stop the Lich King?” Varian advances towards Garrosh, holding his sword out in front of him. “Rage and impulse?” Varian swings, and Garrosh blocks him, but barely. “You fight like a rabid dog. You won’t last a second out there.”

Varian swings again, and Garrosh catches his sword between his axes, holding Varian still and looking into his eyes. Whatever he sees there, it brings him back to himself, and he’s pushing Varian away and following up with a flurry of strikes, making Varian work to defend himself.

Varian can’t find an opening, can barely keep himself safe with Garrosh’s newfound focus, and splits his blade in two to even the odds. The sound of metal clanging against metal takes over his senses, but it's nothing compared to the focus he gains when Garrosh starts taunting him back.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass for too long, Wrynn,” Garrosh shouts. “I’ll kill you right here, right now. And once you’re out of the way, your Alliance will crumble. Who will stop the Horde, then?”

“Not if I kill you first,” Varian counters, and reunites his blade. The flash of light distracts Garrosh long enough for him to find an opening, short-lived as it is. All he manages is a shallow cut across Garrosh’s arm, but it’s enough to send a message. “We’d all be better off without you. It’s time someone put you down.”

They clash again, steel ringing out loud and clear, and it’s in the quiet moments in between that they each begin to realize they’re drawing a crowd. It starts as concerned murmurs, then escalates to cheers and shouting as they continue. A ring forms around them, a very, very safe distance away, but enough that they’re surrounded. There’s no running from this fight.

“You see that?” Garrosh says when he and Varian get close, their weapons locked together as they push against one another, looking for the upper hand. “They’re all here to watch you _die_.”

Varian doesn’t look away from Garrosh, doesn’t bother to glance at the crowd. He keeps his eyes locked on Garrosh, and, when Garrosh smirks like he thinks he’s got the upper hand, Varian smirks in return, and lets up the pressure he’s been keeping up against Garrosh’s axes, slipping to the side as Garrosh falls forward, into the dirt at their feet.

Varian follows up immediately, getting in close to strike, but Garrosh kicks out and knocks Varian to the ground, too. They each roll away, springing to their feet to face one another again, when a voice calls out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Neither of them turn, still too focused, still consumed by the fight, but they both recognize the voice as Jaina.

Varian takes a step to the side, and Garrosh follows suit, keeping Varian in front of him. They circle each other, steps aligned perfectly, as if they were dancing. Jaina calls out again, “Just stop this, both of you!”

Varian circles around so that he can see her, behind Garrosh. He glances over at her for just a moment, then back to Garrosh. “Stay out of this, Jaina,” he says.

“Yes, witch, stay out of this,” Garrosh says, voice high and mocking. “Watch as your king dies by my blade. Perhaps if you beg for mercy, you won’t be next.”

Varian’s focus is back on Garrosh in an instant, and the rage inside consumes him. There is no Jaina, no crowd, no _war_. Just him and Garrosh. Nothing besides Garrosh matters, everything else falling away in a burning haze. “You will not harm her,” Varian says, low and dangerous. Garrosh will die today, or he will.

If Garrosh notices the change in Varian, he doesn’t show it. Instead he continues to taunt, “And who’s going to stop me? Your dead body?” He takes a step forward, readying his weapons.

Varian responds in kind, both hands gripping his sword as he prepares to end it.

Garrosh swings first, expecting Varian to block as usual, and catches his sword with one axe, the other swinging in low to catch Varian in the side. It doesn’t make it through his armor, but Varian stumbles, letting Garrosh find another opening, just under his chest.

Varian coughs, tasting blood, but doesn’t let it stop him. He thinks of his people, of his _son_ , how he can’t let Garrosh win. Can’t let the Horde take everything away. Not again. Not while he’s still alive.

Garrosh's axe swings just short of Varian's neck, and Varian ducks low and smashes his sword into Garrosh’s knee, sending Garrosh reeling off balance before he finds his feet, roaring and turning on Varian again, ready to strike.

“Do it,” Varian spits, “just fucking do it!”

Jaina gasps, covering her mouth in shock, her eyes wide.

“Fucking kill me now, or I’ll make sure you never get the chance!” Varian shouts, and rushes Garrosh as Garrosh starts to run for him.

“Stop!” Jaina’s voice rings out just before a crackling sound breaks through the air, keeping Garrosh and Varian apart as ice spreads across the ground and encases their feet. Garrosh's momentum flings him forward before he lurches backward, losing his balance and falling hard.

Varian stays upright through it. He kicks his way free of the ice to round on Jaina, his anger fixating directly on her. “Don't interfere,” he growls.

Jaina weathers the storm if Varian's rage well, with only a small frown to show her displeasure. “Someone had to stop you. This is madness!”

“ _Why_ did you stop me,” he says, advancing on her. Then, “Oh, that's why.” Varian glares as he catches sight of Thrall approaching the crowd behind her. “Can't let someone put down this mad dog when it might upset your warchief.”

“He is not my warchief.” Ice starts to creep up Varian's boots again, and he stomps it down into slush.

“Varian.” Thrall says, and turns to find Garrosh. He's laying on his back, still frozen in place. Thrall sighs. “Garrosh.”

“Let me guess,” Varian hisses, “you're here to lecture me on the value of peace and cooperation. You, who sent an assassin after me at—”

Thrall crosses his arms in front of himself. “I've already told you, Garona had nothing to do with the Horde!”

“You expect me to believe that? You invited me to a peace talk with a slaver! The very man who _kept me_ _captive!”_ Varian's hand flexes as he shifts his grip on Shalamayne.

Jaina stops him before he can really get started, interrupting as Varian draws a breath to continue. “I don't expect you to like this. I don't even _need_ you to like this. But what I do need is all of you, _alive_ .” Jaina pleads, “If you must fight, then fight. Just please, don't _kill_ each other.”

Varian crosses his arms and frowns, considering the pair “I—”

Varian stumbles forward as Garrosh's fist slams into him from behind, drops to his knees in a daze as Garrosh grips his shoulders, pulls him backwards, and headbutts him.

“Sounds good to me,” Garrosh says, tossing away his axes and cracking his knuckles.

“Garrosh.” Thrall drags a hand down his face, groaning.

Before they can be stopped again, Varian swipes out a leg from his position on the ground, knocking Garrosh on his back once more. Varian holds Shalamayne out to his side and embeds it in the ground at his feet. “Sounds good to me,” he echoes.

Garrosh doesn't stay down for more than a moment, using the position as leverage to tackle Varian on his way up, grabbing him around the waist and flipping Varian over his back.

Varian catches himself in a neat roll, but as he sets his feet Garrosh is on him again with a punch to the stomach. Varian's armor blocks the worst of it, but it still knocks him back. It could have been fatal, without protection. He hits back, aiming for the weak points on Garrosh, smashing an armored fist into Garrosh's bicep as Garrosh reaches to punch him again.

Garrosh doesn't have armor there and he screams, but by the way he swings again, nothing is broken, just bruised. Horribly bruised, but not enough. Varian catches his fist before it can make contact and twists it back, slamming Garrosh in the face with his own hand.

The impact dazes Garrosh, but he's quick enough to bring up his other hand to capture Varian's arm. He pulls, hard, wrenching it to the side, making Varian shout. Garrosh takes advantage of the distraction to get a firmer grip on Varian's body. He pulls Varian close, then throws him.

Varian lands hard on his back, his head knocking solidly against the frozen ground. He tries to blink away the spots clouding his vision, but before he can, Garrosh is there with a hand in his hair, dragging him up.

“I hear you used to be called Lo'Gosh,” Garrosh says, and gives Varian a shake. “A pity, you can't seem to live up to that name now.”

Varian's anger flares and suddenly his vision is clear, the pain hardly an issue. Goldrinn’s chosen or not, he's never lost a fight that mattered. If he had, he'd be dead. Garrosh's smug face fills his vision, and Varian wants nothing more than to make it go away. Fuck honor, he decides. Honor that doesn't win is useless.

He spits.

Garrosh reels back, letting Varian go to wipe it from his eyes, cursing. Varian takes the opening, kicking Garrosh in the knee. He goes down, and Varian grabs his head to slam it down as he brings his own knee up. Blood stains Varian's armor when he pulls Garrosh away, gripping him by his hair in turn.

Varian makes sure to stay a decent distance away so Garrosh can't use his own tricks against him. “I've killed hundreds of your kind, orc. As Lo'Gosh, and as Varian.”

Garrosh struggles, and Varian punches him in the chest. Garrosh coughs and tries to double over, clutching at himself, but Varian's hold on his hair makes him stay upright on his knees.

“No matter my name, I'll kill you too, one day.” He brings his other hand down to grip Garrosh's throat. “I could crush this. I could kill you with one hand. I've done it before.” Varian's feet feel cold and he looks to the side to see Jaina, ready to stop them once again. She's been waiting for them to exhaust one another, and Varian doesn't want to lose the chance to claim his victory to her meddling.

It's doesn't take Jaina for Varian to lose his victory, though, when Garrosh's hand shoots up and wraps around his neck. His arm is longer than Varian's, reaches farther, and he stands, dragging Varian up with him and off his throat. He smirks, lifting Varian off the ground. “I can kill with one hand too.”

Varian struggles, clawing at Garrosh's arm, kicking out his legs. It does nothing, and Garrosh holds fast, lifting Varian higher. Varian reaches one arm behind him, feeling for the knife he hides for situations just like this.

“Garrosh!” Thrall calls out to him, and Garrosh's hand twitches. “Stop it, Garrosh!”

Varian stops his struggling, saving his energy in case Garrosh doesn't let go and he does need to fight his way free. Where Garrosh is holding him, Thrall can't see the knife. He waits.

“Garrosh!” Thrall repeats, and the earth rumbles ominously beneath them.

Garrosh loosens his grip, letting Varian fall to the ground. He tries to land on his feet, but coughs as he lands on a bent knee instead. Discretely, Varian replaces his hidden knife.

“I won that fight,” Garrosh growls, stalking away to follow Thrall as Thrall turns to leave.

“Bullshit,” Varian spits. “If you wanted to win you'd have killed me anyway.” Before Garrosh can face him again, he's leaving as well, brushing past Jaina and ignoring her concerned questioning.

The crowd parts for him, and Varian makes it all the way to the healers’ tent before collapsing, gasping and coughing up blood. Healers surround him immediately, taking stock of his injuries and casting their spells. They ask him what happened and tell him he's lucky for his armor. Without it, even one strong hit from an orc could prove fatal. Especially an orc as strong as Garrosh.

Despite it all, Varian can't help but smile. It's been a while since he has faced an opponent who is his equal, who can take what Varian gives and retaliate with the same strength and ferocity. He hopes Garrosh is in a similar state.


	2. Garrosh Discovers His Humiliation Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian lets Garrosh know what he really thinks of him. They both have some private thoughts of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ ” is going to be common and « » is going to be orcish because fuck me I'm not writing “he said in orcish”/"he said in common" 5000 times

The evening is pleasant, for once. As pleasant as it can be in Northrend. The nighttime chill has yet to set in, and the last of the sun's rays paint a fresh layer of snow with shining gold and pink.

It's the perfect atmosphere for a walk, and Varian leads Jaina through the argent tournament grounds, for once at ease. Recent battles have resulted in a few minor victories, and the soldiers are feeling optimistic. It spreads through the camp, and Varian finds himself smiling at Jaina as they keep up a light, pleasant conversation.

Varian's barely paying attention to where he's going, so he doesn't notice at first when the blue and gold alliance flags start to fade, and black and red shows in the distance.

They're in neutral territory, not horde grounds yet, but Jaina seems less relaxed and starts to take the lead, coaxing Varian back to the alliance camp.

He follows easily, in too good of a mood to put up a fight. Varian follows, until Jaina stops suddenly and he nearly walks right into her.

“Varian,” Jaina says, urgency coloring her voice. “Look at me.”

He does, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Look at me and please don't look away.” She starts walking again, nearly backtracking as she takes them on a radically different path.

“What?” Varian can't help but turn away, trying to find what upset Jaina so much. Then he sees it. Not something that would upset Jaina, but something that she'd know would upset him. Some _one_. It's Garrosh, relaxing around a fire with a few other orcs. Varian can't help but take a step closer, scowling. “Leave me, Jaina.”

“But—”

“I said leave me!” Varian doesn't shout, but his voice is louder than usual. Loud enough to carry across the grounds.

It's then that Garrosh notices Varian. He laughs, turning to the orcs around him. «And there is he is! Just the worm I was talking about!»

“Remember what I said about not killing him.” Jaina frowns, but teleports herself away. Probably to fetch help, Varian thinks. He'll have to end this quickly.

Scowling at Garrosh, Varian keeps quiet. He's not sure if Garrosh knows he understands, and he can only reveal that once. He's been trying to wait for the best opportunity. His good mood has evaporated, and he's ready to take it out on whatever unfortunate soul pisses him off first. He hopes it's Garrosh.

The orcs laugh, and Garrosh continues. «I had him squirming in my fist! King Varian Wrynn, at my mercy!»

There. Now Varian can interrupt without revealing anything. His blood boils, and he steps closer. “Keep my name out of your filthy mouth,” he shouts.

«This motherfucker,» Garrosh groans, and the others make themselves scarce as he stands. “What is your problem?”

“My _problem?_ ” Varian scoffs. “Orcs are my problem. _You_ are my problem!”

“Yeah? And just what is that supposed to mean?” Garrosh crosses his arms and raises his chin in a challenge.

Varian’s brows furrow as he scowls. “Orcs burned my city. Orcs killed my people. My _father._ Orcs made me a slave!” Varian shouts, advancing on Garrosh. “And you,” he growls, “are the most insufferable orc of all.”

“Hey, I don't want to play nice any more than you do. Siding with a bunch of weakling humans? We're going to lose this war, and it'll be because of you.” Garrosh points a finger and Varian, taking a step closer.

Varian doesn't step back. “I know what you're doing, you know,” he says.

“What?”

“Acting like you're so strong and tough. You think you have anyone convinced?”

Garrosh struggles to keep a neutral expression as he feels heat flood his face.

“You're pathetic. You're weaker than the humans you hate. If we lose this war, it's because you can't lead like I can.”

Garrosh feels a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he's frozen, eyes wide as Varian berates him. The heat in his cheeks spreads throughout his body.

“Even when I had no idea who I was, no memories, _nothing,_ all my strategy remained. I can lead even when I'm empty-headed and in chains. But you?” Varian scoffs.

“What about me?” Garrosh flinches inwardly. He didn't mean for his voice to come out so small.

“What strategy can be found in a worthless, rabid dog? Someone ought to put you out of your misery before you doom us all.” Varian pushes past Garrosh, knocking their shoulders together as he goes.

 

* * *

 

 

Garrosh retreats to his tent, a buzz thrumming just under his skin. Growling as he pushes the fabric aside, Garrosh tosses one of his axes, embedding it deep into a wooden support beam. The other he grips with both hands, swinging it around to land in a different beam. It won't do to break one in half, to destroy his temporary home, no matter his rage. He rips off his armor, tossing it to the ground and kicking it away viciously. He wishes he could do the same to Varian. Rough him up a bit. Kick him away when he's done.

Garrosh falls into his bedding with a snarl and kick his boots off, rips his tabard over his head. Even in the freezing air, he still feels over warm, and it's not until he reaches down to unlace his leggings that he notices why. His fingers reach the laces and he stills, astonished at the hardness he finds there.

 

_Pathetic._

 

Varian enters his tent, brushing aside the fabric at the entrance  and cracking a small smile now that no one can see him. It had felt good to put Garrosh in his place. A tension he didn't even notice he was holding melts off of him, and with every piece of armor Varian removes, he feels like he can breathe a little easier.

He never gets to speak his mind, anymore. Not since he became whole again. Any other time he'd be furious at the images of Garrosh flooding his mind, but this time? Varian relaxes onto his bed with a sigh, picturing the shock on the orc’s face. The way he wasn't entirely able to hide just how deep Varian's words cut him.

Varian starts getting amped up again, the thought of a repeat of the day's events rushing through him like cheers before a battle. He wants to do it again. He wants to see Garrosh again and let him know what he truly is.

 

_Weak._

 

Garrosh rips his hands from his laces immediately, clenching them in fists by his sides. He lays on his back, clenching his eyes shut and willing his body to _stop it._

It doesn't, and his mind is no help either. Every time he closes his eyes he sees that human, looking so smug, so self-assured. His thoughts race with what he could have said. Shame runs hot through him when Garrosh considers what he _should_ have said and comes up with nothing. How can he argue when he agrees? His cock throbs, and he lets out a pitiful groan.

 

_Worthless._

 

Varian sits up, the thrill of triumph making his heart beat faster. He feels his muscles tense, his blood sings, his cock begins to fill and stiffen, his—wait. His face burns.

Varian's aware that this sometimes happens to warriors, has even happened to him before. The excitement of winning a battle leading to excitement...elsewhere in the body. But a petty dispute seems like it's hardly enough to warrant such a reaction. Especially considering who it was with.

Or perhaps, it's because of who it was with. A victory in a sparring ring is nice, yes. But nowhere near as sweet as knocking Garrosh down, into the dirt where he belongs. Varian falls back into his bed with a huff. He's too keyed-up to sleep and he knows it. Sighing, he slips a hand into his pants and cracks a small smile, his good mood returning to him at last.

 

_Insufferable._

 

Garrosh undoes his lacings slowly, so slowly, as if with each one he hopes that his erection will disappear before he can start on the next. The treatment only serves to excite him further, the sensation teasing him into full hardness. By the end, his cock freed, Garrosh is panting, quick but soft, more eager than ashamed.

He grips himself lightly, then tighter, as Varian enters his mind again. Garrosh snarls. The human king has ruined enough already, he will not ruin this as well. He wouldn't let Varian stop him from doing anything else he'd want, so why should he let Varian stop him here? Garrosh gives himself a stroke, groaning. If he wants to pleasure himself, then he will.

It's easier, then, for Garrosh to close his eyes and let himself relax. He lets his thoughts come and go, sliding off him like the light sheen of sweat he starts to feel covering him. A thought rises up, then slides away. Nothing matters but for the slide of his hand on his cock.

Nothing, that is, until Garrosh realizes his thoughts have been connected, one thread weaving them all together. In each one, in each moment of pleasure, has been Varian.

 

_You are my problem_

 

Varian bites his lip to keep quiet as he strokes his cock with one hand, pushing his pants down with the other to make more room. He is only in a tent, after all. Even with the howling wind, sound still travels through the camp.

Varian runs his free hand through  his hair, then he brings it down quick to cover his mouth as he gives another moan. He feels his hips give a jerk involuntarily. He's going too fast to really enjoy it, and tries to stop himself, gripping tight at the base. Garrosh has been affecting him too much, he thinks. He's been more rash lately, more impulsive, quicker to anger. And now he can't even jerk off in peace, thoughts of Garrosh making him speed up as heat burns through him.

Varian takes his hand off his cock entirely and reaches into a drawer by his bedside, looking for the oil he keeps there. Garrosh will not ruin this for him, too.

 

_I had him squirming in my fist_

 

Garrosh can't stop himself, his hips bucking into his hand as thoughts of Varian flood his mind. The way he looked as Garrosh choked him. How it felt to grasp his hair and force Varian to kneel before him.

Every fight is as thrilling as it is maddening. He wants to kill Varian, but he doesn't. Without Varian, who will he fight that can give back everything Garrosh dishes out and more? What victory is there in that death?

Garrosh grips his own hair, giving it a pull as he tugs on his cock. It sends a shock through him and he moans, tensing his thighs. He had forced Varian to his knees, and Varian did the same to him. When they fight, everything he gives, he gets.

 

_At my mercy_

 

Varian spills oil into his hand and places it back on his cock, the slide smoother and slicker and better and—Varian has to bite down on a groan, and he lets the vial fall into the sheets so he can replace the hand on his mouth. It's perfect.

Even as he thinks of Garrosh, it's perfect. There's no hope for slowing down, his heart races and his hand picks up the pace with it. Garrosh wouldn't go slow, he thinks. Garrosh wouldn't have the patience for it. Not for himself, and not for a partner. Varian moans again, speeding up.

 

_Because of you_

 

Garrosh reaches down to his balls, rolling them in his palm, teasing and touching with the tips of his fingers. His hands bump together as he strokes himself with the other, and his cock aches, throbbing with his pulse.

He grips himself tighter, bordering on pain. Varian would make it hurt, he thinks. Varian already pushes him around. Him, an orc, and a big one at that. Varian isn't afraid of him. Varian isn’t afraid to knock him down. Wouldn’t be afraid to keep him there, make him beg for mercy. Varian could push Garrosh to the ground, make him spread his legs. Garrosh groans, digging his nails into his inner thigh. Varian wouldn’t be afraid to lay a hand on his ass, to—to—

Garrosh opens his mouth on a low moan, his chest heaving with his panting breath, his arm flexing as he works himself. He’s feels too warm, feverish, and his back arches off his bedding damp with sweat. Varian could—Garrosh’s thoughts swim. Varian could—He would _let_ Varian—fuck—fuck— _fuck—_

«FUCK,» Garrosh shouts as he comes. He feels good, amazing, even. Warm, for once, in the frozen hellscape he’s been stuck in. But through it all, there’s a thread of shame, striking him deep in his core. _Would_ he let Varian—? He groans, reaching for some dirty clothes to wipe his hand on. Whatever he grabs will need washing anyway. Better to think about what needs to happen next than whatever _that_ was.

 

_Fuck_

 

Varian's biting down on his fist, breathy moans escaping on every exhale. It's too much, he's going too fast, but he can't stop himself. Garrosh wouldn't show him mercy, he thinks. So he continues, hard and fast and slick, trying not to let anyone hear as he works himself up. He starts shaking, his whole body wound tight and and on edge. He wants to come—he _needs_ to come—but it's too much, it _hurts,_ and Varian's muscles are too tense for him to find satisfaction.

Still, he cannot stop. Garrosh wouldn't. He strokes himself even as he shakes, whining and gasping until finally, finally, he stills. Varian comes with a shout, slapping a hand over his mouth to cover the sound of his cries. His hand slows as he finishes, and he gasps in breath after breath, trying to come down. He's never done that to himself before. Not like that. He sits up, wiping his own mess off his stomach as he considers if he wouldn't mind doing it again. If he wouldn't mind _Garrosh_ doing it again.


	3. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrosh and Varian find each other alone, without anyone to stop them from killing each other. Except for themselves, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ ” is common and « » is orcish because fuck me I'm not writing “he said in orcish”/"he said in common" 5000 times u kno the drill

Garrosh shifts in his seat, trying hard to focus on the tournament. Horde and Alliance champions face off against one another in the ring below, and the stadium erupts in cheers one half at a time at every strike. He’s avoiding looking at Varian as best he can, trying to do as Thrall has been asking and not start another fight, so he’s grateful when a commotion behind his seat captures his attention.

A messenger runs up to Thrall, handing him a rolled up piece of paper. Thanking the messenger, he unrolls it and reads the letter, frowning.

“What is it?” Garrosh asks, far more interested in the new development than the mockery of a battle below them.

“Our scouts just discovered an abandoned village nearby. Too close for comfort, if there's scourge still there.” Thrall looks to the mountains with a frown. “I need to find out if our people are still safe here.”

“Did our scouts report any scourge?”

“No, but I still need to be sure.”

Garrosh looks down to the battle, then up at Thrall, tilting his head forward. “It’s not like I'm doing anything important right now,” he whispers.

“Garrosh!” Thrall chides.

Crossing his arms, Garrosh shifts in his seat. “Well I'm _not_.”

“Alright, fine,” Thrall sighs, placing a paper in his hand. “It's marked on this map. Go.”

Garrosh rises from his seat and runs off to investigate.

 

* * *

 

Varian watches the tournament as well, glancing between the battle and the orcs across from him when an alliance scout runs up to him.

“My Lord,” they say, though they already have his attention. Despite his best efforts, the battle hasn’t been nearly enough of a distraction from Garrosh. He wasn’t paying attention anyway.

“What is it,” Varian asks, his eyes still on the battle, making some attempt to act the part of a king.

“We've discovered a village in the mountains. It appears to be abandoned but we worry it may be a scourge trap.”

Varian hums. “Our people would like to stay in solid houses instead of tents. There are many who would like to go there straight away, given the chance.” He looks to the scout. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just me and those under my command.”

Varian crosses his arms, considering  “Keep this a secret until we can be sure it is safe.”

“It's just up the mountain a ways, around that peak.” The scout points, and Varian follows their gaze.

“Very well,” he says, nodding. “I'll have a look as soon as we're done here.”

 

* * *

 

 

The ride to the village is uneventful, but all it does is set Varian's nerves on edge. He ties his horse to a fence on the outskirts of the village, far enough away he hopes she'll be safe from anything that may be inside. It's snowing, and Varian shivers. That makes it more dangerous, he thinks. Any footprints will be obscured. It will let him sneak around easier, but it'll also let anyone else sneak up on him.

Varian starts on the outskirts of the town, circling around before slowly making his way towards the center. It seems to be truly abandoned, and he makes his way into an inn, looking for a break from the falling snow. That too, is abandoned, with no one to light a fire to keep the place warm. He doesn't dare light one himself, so Varian makes his way up the stairs, going in search of an old towel or sheet he can use to dry the melting snow from his hair.

He finds one in a closet inside one of the rooms, rubs it through his hair and tries to reach into his armor as well. Varian glances out the window. It seems safe enough; he hasn't run into anyone else here, living or dead. He pauses, weighing his options, and unlatches some of his heavier armor. The plate falls to the ground with a clank until he's left only in mail. It's easier to dry himself, then, some of the chill fading as he moves around.

Just as he's about to relax, Varian hears the front door of the inn open and slam shut. He holds still, listening. It could be an alliance scout, come to help him explore the village. Or it could be...something else. He hears two thuds, then two more, and then footsteps. There's no time to put all his armor back on, so Varian grabs his gloves and sword, hoping he can make it down the stairs before whatever has joined him comes up. Here, his only escape will be to jump out a window.

When Varian reaches the stairs he almost wishes he hadn't come to investigate. Of all the horrors he could have faced, any would be better than Garrosh Hellscream.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Varian snarls, taking in Garrosh's appearance. He's shed his pauldrons and dropped his axes, but even still he cuts an imposing figure.

Garrosh turns, growling, one hand reaching for an axe. “I should have known some alliance filth would have found a way into this place as well.”

“What a surprise, we both have scouts in the area,” Varian mocks, making his way to the bottom of the stairs. “Too bad there's no scourge around to put you down for me.”

“Too bad there's no one here to stop me killing you myself.” Garrosh heaves his axe at Varian, picks up the other as Varian dodges and Garrosh's axe embeds itself in the wall behind him. “Won't that be a surprise for your scouts.”

Varian smirks, the knowledge that they're all alone lighting him up from the inside. Finally, he can release his restraint. Varian lets himself fade, lets his worries about his kingdom and his promises to Jaina slide away until all that's left is his fury, his fight. It's time for Garrosh to meet Lo'Gosh, free and unchained.

He charges Garrosh, his weapon at the ready. Garrosh is ready too, and their blades meet with a metallic clang. It's a horrible environment to fight in, and Varian takes advantage of that, backing Garrosh into a table. It digs into his legs, distracting him long enough for Varian to knock Garrosh's blade away. It falls to the ground, far out of his reach.

Garrosh doesn't hesitate though, he picks up a nearby chair and bashes Varian over the head with it. It breaks from the impact and Varian stumbles backwards, dazed. Garrosh presses his advantage, advancing on Varian forcing _him_ backwards. With what remains of the chair in his hand Garrosh disarms Varian and grapples him, picking him up and smashing him down into a nearby table. The table cracks, splinters, and Varian is on the floor, gasping and coughing for breath.

Garrosh laughs, victory inevitable in his mind. «You don't deserve to be called Wolf,» he says, and grabs Varian's ankle to pull him out of the wreckage. «You aren't strong enough to deserve it.» But what he doesn't account for is that Varian has shed some of his armor. He can move in ways he usually wouldn't, and when Garrosh pulls him closer, Varian twists and kicks him in the chest with his free leg.

Garrosh lets go of his ankle in shock, and stumbles back. Varian rises to his feet, and with less armor weighing him down, he is able to kick Garrosh again. Garrosh is ready this time though, and blocks the hit. It does still send him backwards, and Varian follows up with a flurry of punches, working to gain ground. Each touch only serves to ignite the fire within him, stoking it higher, kindling his rage.

Varian shoves Garrosh against a wall with an arm across his chest, the wall rattling from the impact. “Watch your mouth, Hellscream,” he hisses, leaning forward.

“Fuck you, Wrynn.” Garrosh pushes back, only to have Varian slam their bodies together, knocking his head back against the wall with a thump.

Quick as a whip, Varian’s hand is on Garrosh’s throat, tilting his head up and pressing him back. “Lo’Gosh,” he says.

“What?” Garrosh struggles, but it’s half hearted, his curiosity keeping him in place.

«My name,» he snarls, tightening his grip, «is Lo’Gosh»

Garrosh narrows his eyes, scowling down at Varian and asking in his own language, «Since when can the human king speak orcish?»

«Fuck _you_ ,» Varian spits, also in orcish, grabbing Garrosh by the arm and throwing him across the room. Furniture clatters away as Garrosh lands in a heap. “Are we here to talk, or are we here to fight?”

Garrosh raises himself up to one knee, smirking as he replies, “Like I said, fuck you, _Varian_.”

Varian roars, and is on Garrosh in seconds, landing a hit to his face with a gauntleted fist. Before he can even react, Varian shoves him back to the ground, sitting across his chest and clenching a hand in his hair. “My name,” he growls, leaning in and making it hard for Garrosh to breathe. “Say it.”

“Va—” Garrosh gets cut off as Varian slaps him across the face.

“SAY IT,” He yells.

“ _Fuck_. _You_.”

“Is that how we’re going to do this then?” Varian leans in close, tilting his head from one side to the other. Garrosh growls underneath him, and Varian gives his hair another yank. “If you really want to fuck me,” he whispers, low and dangerous, “you’re gonna earn it.”

Garrosh is silent for a long while, their harsh breathing the only sound in the room, until, “Lo’Gosh,” he breathes.

Varian pulls back, shocked. Did Garrosh really just—Does Garrosh actually want—He hadn’t expected—

“Lo’Gosh,” Garrosh says, louder this time, distracting Varian from his reeling thoughts.

And then Garrosh flips them, bashing Varian's head against the ground as he moves to sit on top.

“You're not the only one who can play dirty,” Garrosh smirks. “You really think that I'd want to fuck a human? That I'd want to fuck _you?_ ”

“You think _I_ would?”

“You're the one who offered.”

Varian punches Garrosh in the stomach, making him flinch away, giving Varian an opening to flip them again. He sits himself on Garrosh's hips.

“You're the one who's hard underneath me.” It's a gamble, and a big one at that. Between his own armor and Garrosh's, he can't actually feel a thing. But this chance to humiliate Garrosh is one he can't miss.

Garrosh is silent for a beat. He stills.

He stares up a Varian.

He blinks once.

Twice.

And then:

“It doesn't mean anything,” Garrosh rasps, his voice raw.

Varian smirks, places his hands on Garrosh's shoulders and leans in. “I think it rather does.”

“I like males. I like fighting. It doesn't—I don't have to explain myself to you.” Garrosh squirms, trying to dislodge Varian.

Varian pushes him back down and drags his hands down, across Garrosh's chest. “You like _this_ man. You like _me._ You _want_ me.” Varian slides a hand from his own chest to his stomach, moving aside the light armor there to rest his hand over the lacings of his pants. He swallows down the lump in his throat as he realizes he's hard too. “Come and _get_ me,” he says. “If you think you can.”

Garrosh raises his hands to hold on to Varian's thighs. His touch is light, hesitant, until Garrosh asks, “You doubt me?” His grip tightens and he drags Varian up, then reaches behind him, undoing his own lacings. Varian follows suit with a smirk, undressing himself as much as he can while he's seated above Garrosh. He tosses away his gauntlets, slips his mail over his head, letting it pile next to him, but leaves on the clothes underneath. Even this close to Garrosh, even this aroused, it's still cold. Garrosh seems to agree, simply pushing his tabard to the side to get at his own erection. He can't, though, not with Varian on him like he is, and rolls them to the side.

Varian's head hits the floor with a thump, and he kicks Garrosh in the leg as he pushes his clothing and what remains of his armor out of the way, finally, finally grasping his cock. He lets out a small moan in his relief, and all at once Garrosh's entire focus is on him. Garrosh has his own hand in his pants, completely still as his eyes travel down Varian's body, coming to rest on Varian's crotch. Varian slowly, so, so slowly, eases his cock out, and before he can blink, Garrosh is on him, hovering above him as Varian frowns up at him. This won't do at all. Varian reaches for Garrosh's cock, using the distraction of releasing it to flip them again, so Varian's sitting on top like before. He scoots forward, until his cock rests against Garrosh's, and gives a tentative thrust.

Garrosh groan and grips his ass, and Varian hisses at the pressure of it. Then the world is moving, as Garrosh picks Varian up and stands, depositing him on one of the tables they haven't destroyed yet. Garrosh moves to stand between his spread legs, and Varian hisses as Garrosh takes his cock, surrounding it in one large hand.

“Too fucking tight,” Varian growls, and grabs for Garrosh's cock, holding it in a similar grip.

“Don't fucking care,” Garrosh growls back, and gives Varian a harsh stroke. Varian mirrors it, reveling in the way Garrosh's face pinches and his hand loosens before he continues.

With his free hand, Varian reaches around Garrosh, digging his nails in and scratching down his back. Garrosh just moans, and Varian does it again, letting out a sardonic chuckle.

“Like it rough, do you?” Varian asks, reaching up to drag his nails across Garrosh's neck before tangling them im his hair. He gives a jerk, forcing Garrosh's head back, and smirks to himself. “I should have known.”

Even as Varian hurts him, Garrosh finds it in himself to laugh. “Should have known? What, have you been thinking about me?” He grips Varian's ass again, tight and bruising, bringing them closer together. “Have you been thinking about me like this?” He asks, and takes his hand away from Varian's cock so he can rub his own directly against it.

Varian moans, his grip in Garrosh's hair faltering. He _has_ been thinking about it. And he can't ever admit that. Instead, he slides his hand down to the back of Garrosh's head, pulling him even closer, whispering in his ear, "You want to know,” he breathes, harsh and panting, “what I think?”

Garrosh groans, holding Varian even closer, grinding against him frantically.

Varian takes the pointed tip of Garrosh's ear in his mouth and _bites_. “I think that's none of your fucking business,” he growls, kicking Garrosh off of him. Before Garrosh can react, Varian is on him again, shoving, pushing him backwards until Garrosh hits the tavern's bar and loses his balance, falling onto it with a thump. Varian doesn't let him get his bearings, still pushing, and scrambling up to sit in his lap, lowering his hips down to press their cocks together again.

«Asshole,» Garrosh grumbles, but there’s no heat to it. His breath is coming too fast, each exhale bringing with it a grunt, for him to be serious. He wraps his arms around Varian's middle, crushing him closer as Varian digs his fingers into Garrosh's shoulders, rutting against him.

It's warm, in the space between them, and pleasure spikes through Varian, tingling in his fingers and toes. He's getting close, and he drags his hands down to Garrosh's chest, his nails leaving red lines on the way there before he flattens his hands out. He smooths them over Garrosh's pecs as he arches his back with a moan. Garrosh flexes for him, laughing.

“You like that?” Garrosh asks, lifting his hips to meet Varian as best he can with a lapful of human. “You like my—fuck—you like that?" Garrosh trails off on a moan, unable to think as he near his peak as well.

Varian lowers his head to rest on Garrosh's shoulder and bites before he's seized by another shock of pleasure, making his head fall back on a moan. Garrosh slides a hand up Varian's waist, up his back and behind his neck, and pulls his hair, hard. Varian cries out, and before he can try and stop himself, he's coming, his hips stuttering as he works himself through it, his voice cracking as he shouts through his satisfaction.

Garrosh uses his grip in Varian's hair to pull him closer, burying his face in Varian's neck. He reaches between them, giving his cock a stroke as Varian begins to fall limp against him, the way eased by Varian's come. It only takes a few before he's coming too, tensing under Varian and muffling his sounds into Varian's shoulder. He doesn't bite, but it's a close thing, his open mouth letting his sharp teeth rest against Varian's skin.

They're both panting as they come down, the air between them hot and sticky as Varian recovers himself enough to pull away. He looks at Garrosh underneath him, and for just a moment, Varian's expression is hazy, his eyes not quite open and an almost-smile on his lips. Then his brows draw together and those lips set in a scowl as he's shoving Garrosh away.

Varian slides off his lap to lay beside him on the counter, his legs dangling off the side as he stuffs himself back in his pants. There's come on his hand when he's finished, and he doesn't know if it's his own or Garrosh's. He reaches over to Garrosh, wiping it on his pants.

«Hey!» Garrosh slaps Varian's hand away, but it's half-hearted.

“Shut up.” Varian stands and goes in search of his armor, finding the mail and dragging it over his head.

Garrosh groans, but otherwise remains silent as Varian secures his gloves and goes upstairs for the rest of his armor. When he comes down, he's fully dressed, and Garrosh is still laying on the counter, though he has managed to tuck his cock away, back into his pants.

“Garrosh,” Varian spits, and Garrosh turns his head with a lazy smile on his face. “Let's get one thing straight,” Varian says.

“You're not,” Garrosh chuckles.

“I'm serious,” Varian growls. “You keep quiet about this, or I'll kill you.”

Garrosh sits up, then, looking Varian in the eyes. “You think I want anyone finding out either? I'll be dead before you can even get to me.”

Varian nods, heading for the door. The draft that blows in makes  him shiver, and he hesitates, looking back. “Garrosh?” Varian says. “One more thing. If you think this means anything, if you think you’re special, you are wrong. I'll still kill you if you piss me off.”

And with that, Varian steps out into the snow, the door slamming shut behind him.


	4. Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrosh and Varian deal with what they've done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new title because i actually uuhhhhh thought of one, and i fixed some formatting stuff in previous chapters

 

In a private tent in neutral territory, Varian and Thrall agree to meet to come to an agreement on the abandoned village. As Jaina casts spells to silence them to the outside world for privacy, Varian directs a scowl just behind Thrall, where Garrosh hovers over his shoulder.  Thrall politely pretends not to notice as he takes a seat. He smooths out a map over the table in front of them.

Varian remains standing and crosses his arms. “I don't even want to be seeing _you_ . Why did you have to bring _him?”_

Jaina sighs as she finishes casting her spells, securing the tent. “Varian, we need to talk this through.”

“Garrosh is here because he's the one who was there, not me,” Thrall explains, calm and even despite the insult. “If I miss something important because of that, I need him to fill me in.”

“What has he told you?” Varian tries to keep his voice level, emotionless. Tries to keep himself relaxed as he can before the blood can drain from his face.

Garrosh draws in a breath, whether to explain or insult Varian, Thrall cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I know there weren't any visible scourge in the area and the town seemed abandoned. And I know my people would like somewhere to stay other than tents.”

“As would mine.” Varian bristles, his worries about forgotten. Now all that matters is his people.

“They'd kill each other,” Garrosh says. “We can't share. The Horde can take it by force, but many would die in the conflict.”

“You will do no such thing!” Varian slams his hands on the table, leaning forward. “My people are not to be harmed. Especially not by the likes of your Horde scum!”

“No one is getting harmed!” Jaina says. “If we can divide the town, just as we've done here, then perhaps--”

“Then perhaps we can share after all,” Thrall says, nodding.

Varian considers a moment, staring down at the map in front of them. “If we could divide it…” he muses, “and if we could provide safety to the people. It's in a decently defensible area.” He takes a seat as he finds himself calming down.

Thrall nods, pointing to the mountains surrounding the village. “These are too steep for most scourge troops to climb. The argent tournament grounds are close-by if any problems arise.”

“And there's only one tavern,” Garrosh says.

Varian levels a glare at Thrall, refusing to look at Garrosh after what they did in that tavern. “Alcohol and rivalry don't mix. How can I be sure your Horde mongrels won't harm any alliance citizens who stay there?”

Thrall opens his mouth to speak, but Garrosh responds first. “We Horde aren't as weak as your alliance,” he spits. “If anyone's starting a fight and ruining our soldiers, it's _your_ people.”

“ _My_ people—” Varian starts before Jaina stops him.

 “—are just as likely as the Horde to do something we'd all regret,” She says. “I've seen enough fights between soldiers on the _same_ side to know that, and you have too. We're all just as irresponsible as each other.”

“And just as trustworthy,” Thrall adds. “I believe in my people to do the right thing, to put aside their differences when it benefits us all. And I expect yours could do the same.”

“Your trust in the Horde far exceeds mine, Warchief.” Varian stands, shaking his head. “This is impossible,” he says. “The Alliance will never share this land with the Horde.”

“Then what do you propose, Varian?” Jaina places a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him towards her and away from Garrosh. “If you take the village for the Alliance, our relationship with the Horde will crumble. If you let the Horde have it, the Alliance will be furious. Think about this, Varian. Think about the people.”

“If I may,” Garrosh says, and a grin spreads across his face that makes Varian's scowl deepen. “We're never going to come to an agreement like this. How about a challenge?”

Thrall rises from his chair as well. “Garrosh, no. That's no way to solve this matter.”

Varian considers them, considers Garrosh. They've fought before, and though Varian could win, they're evenly matched enough it would be a challenge. More likely they'd end up killing each other, with the survivor dying of his wounds moments later.

Jaina steps in to fill Varian's silence, and, he thinks, to stop him before he can accept. “Thrall is right. We can't risk losing either of you at such a critical time. We'll just have to keep the town a secret for a while longer until we can come to an agreement.”

Varian nods. “Fine. Besides, I was only there for a few hours, and it was snowing. If anyone else was there, their tracks would have been covered. I'd like to have another look before I'm completely sure it's safe.”

“Coward!” Garrosh shouts. “Face me! Forget pitting your champions against the Horde, face _me_.”

Varian stalks towards Garrosh, his voice icy as he says, “I won't fight you for this land, and I don't fight to entertain others. I've spent enough time in arenas just like the one here.”

“Scum!” Garrosh bangs his fist on the table. “You won't even defend yourself! How can you defend your people?”

“You think me weak?” Varian's hand twitches, and it takes every ounce of his self control to not draw his sword and gut Garrosh right there. “Very well, I will fight. Not for this, but because someone needs to put you in your place.”

 

* * *

 

“What’s the point of a dulled weapon?” Garrosh growls, getting a feel for the blunt axe.

“You aren’t allowed to kill each other,” Thrall explains, exasperated. “Especially you. Don’t ruin this by killing the _king of Stormwind_ in front of an audience.”

“We’ll see,” Garrosh grumbles. “Only if he returns the favor.”

Garrosh and Varian take their positions on opposite sides of the field, each knowing that they can’t kill, but they’ll be damned if they aren't going to beat each other within an inch of their life.

They start slowly, matching their strides as they come together in the center and circle each other, sizing up their new weapons.

Garrosh jerks himself forward, growling as Varian jumps back. “Coward! Strike me!”

“I'm here to win, not play into your hands,” Varian responds, stepping back into position.

They circle each other again, and with each step the crowd around them grows more tense. Garrosh feints again, and the crowd draws a collective breath, releasing it when Varian matches his move, keeping distance between them.

“What's the matter, Garrosh? Afraid to make the first real move?” Varian twirls his blade in his hand. “Afraid you'll lose?”

“I'm not afraid of anything, least of all you.”

“Come on then,” Varian says. He smirks, holding his arms out to his sides, an easy target. “Come and _get_ me,” he says. “ _If you think you can.”_

Garrosh nearly loses his grip on his weapons. His eyes go wide with the brazen reminder of what they did, a secret only the two of them share. Varian's trying to throw Garrosh off-balance, and despite his efforts to resist, it's working. Garrosh takes a step back in shock before he recovers himself, screaming in rage as he attacks Varian.

Varian's ready for him, though, and parries easily, knocking Garrosh's axes to the side. Garrosh attacks again and Varian deflects his blow again before Garrosh steps back to his former position, sizing Varian up.

«That’s a dirty trick, you know,» Garrosh says, low enough that only Varian can hear. «I should have known you wouldn't fight with honor.»

“You're not the only one who can fight dirty,” Varian says, echoing Garrosh from before. He raises his sword in an attack, advancing on Garrosh. Their weapons clash, and Garrosh knocks Varian's to the side, following up with a blow that Varian blocks with ease.

Varian retreats, then comes in fast and low with his sword aimed at Garrosh's legs, forgetting until it's too late that the dull blade won't incapacitate him like a real one would. He makes up for it with another swing from behind, whacking Garrosh firm across the back and making him stumble forward. Garrosh turns to retaliate, and catches Varian in the side with one axe, the other swinging clean over Varian's head as he ducks. Garrosh doesn't hesitate to follow up and advances on Varian as he tries to retreat. Their blades lock in a contest of strength and Garrosh uses his height to his advantage, pushing Varian back and _down_ , intent on making him kneel. Instead, Varian slips out from under Garrosh, striking him in the stomach as he goes, and takes up a position behind him again. Garrosh turns to face him, but he's too slow, and Varian lands another hit. Pressing his advantage, Varian puts Garrosh on the defensive, refusing to let him rest, dancing around the battlefield, around Garrosh, with nearly impossible speed.

Blow after blow lands with bruising force, more on Garrosh than on Varian, and Garrosh starts to tire. He refuses to acknowledge it, continues fighting anyway, pushing his body to the limit. Try as he might to ignore it, Varian's taunts have affected him too greatly and his concentration has suffered for it. He's leaving himself too open, and Varian doesn't hesitate to take advantage, wearing down Garrosh even further with the pain.

Varian's winning, and he knows it. He knocks Garrosh to the ground, his back hitting with a low thud and knocking the air out of him. He’s dazed, long enough for Varian to point a sword at his throat. To rub it in, Varian steps on him, one foot firmly on his chest, and says, "Yield to me."

Garrosh spits at him, struggling to get free, and Varian gets down there with him, digging his knee into Garrosh’s stomach as he puts his dulled sword to Garrosh's throat and shouts, "YIELD!"

Garrosh is about to struggle again but it's clear he's just going to hurt himself. Distantly, he hears Thrall call the match, and Varian pushes down where he’s kneeling on top of Garrosh before letting him up.

Garrosh glares at Varian, paying no attention to the crowd around them. “I was holding back. You're too delicate for a real fight.”  
  
“Afraid of your Warchief punishing you?” Varian laughs, handing off the dulled sword to an attendant at the exit to the arena. “Unfortunate, knowing you’re less important to him than his enemy.”  
  
“This isn't over!” Garrosh shouts, “I'll show you what it's like with no one to hold me back! What it’s like with _real_ weapons! You know where to find me.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Varian sits alone in his tent, toying with the straps of his armor. _You know where to find me_ . Garrosh couldn’t have meant _that_ , could he? He certainly couldn’t expect Varian to come find him in the middle of the Horde’s section of the grounds. Even if Varian were sure of his own safety, Garrosh wouldn’t want the others knowing about this fight.  
  
Varian stands, then, leaving his armor on and reaching for his sword. If Garrosh is there, he’ll be able to put that orc filth in his place. And if he isn’t, well. Only Varian will know what a fool he’s made of himself, sneaking off to the place where they fucked, looking for a fight.

 

* * *

 

Varian takes a gryphon, flying off into the night without leaving a trace of where he's going. There's no footprints to show his path as he lands on the outskirts of the village, and directs his gryphon to find a safe place to stay until he calls for it. As soon as he dismounts, he sees footprints in the snow. Big, heavy, and clearly orcish. Varian draws his sword, and follows. They wind through the town, leading him to a relatively open area.

In front of an abandoned forge there's Garrosh, sitting on a stool and sharpening his weapons. Varian considers throwing one of the many knives hidden on his person, but doesn't want to lose any advantage over Garrosh.

Instead, he bends down, scoops up some snow, and packs it together.

Garrosh flails as the icy snowball impacts, roaring and frantically wiping the slush from his eyes.

Varian can't help but laugh as he approaches, breaking into a run and drawing his sword. Garrosh barely has enough time to stand up, but he manages to dodge Varian as he reaches him. Varian doesn’t pause in his attack, the snow crunching beneath him as he spins, sharp and fast. Garrosh raises both his axes to protect himself, but the strength behind Varian’s sword pushes him back.

A hand presses hard on Garrosh’s shoulder, and suddenly Varian’s up next to him, above him, behind him, flipping over him and dragging his sword down Garrosh’s back. Garrosh jerks away in an instant, but not quick enough. He feels something snap and his pauldrons feel loose. He puts some distance between himself and Varian to tear them off, barely registering the cut leather straps and the sudden cold on his back before he’s charging Varian with a yell.

Varian blocks Garrosh’s axes, but their blades lock together as Garrosh refuses to pull back. They scowl at each other across the sharp metal, close enough their breath mingles in the cold air around them. Varian’s eyes lock on Garrosh’s, capturing Garrosh’s attention as he separates his blade, using the distraction to slam half of it into whichever part of Garrosh he can reach as the other half holds his axes at bay. Garrosh’s face screws up in pain, but Varian hears his blade hit metal and knows his missed anywhere important. Garrosh keeps pushing, his axes sliding along Varian’s blade and inching closer to his neck.

Despite the cold, Varian feels sweat bead on his brow as Garrosh’s axes frame his face, each angled in towards him, each pushing, sliding against his own sword. Garrosh’s smirk grows with every inch he gains. Out of options, with no safe way to push Garrosh away without getting cut, Varian takes a chance. He moves himself closer to Garrosh, the length of their bodies nearly touching, heat building between them, and bring his leg up, slamming his knee into Garrosh’s groin.

Garrosh’s axes slide away and he’s doubling over with a scream. Varian ends up recoiling in pain too, nowhere near as much as Garrosh, but enough to realize he just hit his knee on a metal cup. He bends, and as he does, his chest plate falls forward. The leather straps that hold it on his shoulders hang down in front of him, cut clean through, and Varian tears the whole thing off before it can inconvenience him.

«WHAT THE _FUCK_ ,» Garrosh yells, working himself into a standing position.

Varian shrugs. «You left yourself open.»

«That was a cheap fucking shot,» Garrosh growls, shifting his legs.

«Are you giving up?» Varian asks, then, “Do you yield?”

«Never. Lok’tar ogar.» Garrosh starts at Varian again, aiming for his chest, now covered only by a layer of mail without his plate armor. Varian blocks each axe with each half of his sword, knocking Garrosh away and following up with an attack of his own.

Garrosh blocks him, one axe for one sword as they each use the spares to slash at one another. Links of Varian's scale mail break off and fall to the ground, dotting the snow with metal and the faintest hint of blood. Garrosh feels the cold on his skin as his tabard tears again in the front to reveal the metal chest plate underneath. The straps catch Varian's eye. He pulls away and rushes forward again, going for them, trying to even the odds. It leaves him open, focusing only on the attack, and as Varian removes Garrosh's armor, Garrosh gets a good hit at his pauldrons, knocking them to the ground as well.

Varian shoves Garrosh away by his newly bare chest. Garrosh's grip on his hand before the push comes brings Varian's glove away with him, and Varian tears off the other one, throwing it in Garrosh's face with a snarl, then a laugh as Garrosh stumbles back a second too late to avoid it.

Garrosh tosses it to the side and charges at Varian again. He's ready for it, catching one of Garrosh's axes and spinning out of the way of the other, getting behind Garrosh. Varian presses up close, leaving less space for Garrosh to hit him without injuring himself. It's warm. Hot, even, with Garrosh's top half bare and Varian with holes in his armor. Heat rolls off them both from their exertion, and for a split second, Varian finds himself distracted by the feel of it, by the flex of Garrosh's back.

It's a split second too long, and Garrosh rounds on him. Varian gets his swords up, but barely, too unsteady, his grip too weak. Half of Shalamayne falls to the ground, and Varian scrambles to block both of Garrosh's axes with one sword. This is where he would grip the blade for extra support, but without gloves it's risky. Instead, he strains to hold Garrosh off with one arm, the other reaching for the dagger that Thrall stopped him from using the first time they fought.

Garrosh sees it coming, manages to step out of the way before Varian can stab him properly, but Varian's relentless, coming at him again and again. Their blades lock once more, and Varian slices across Garrosh's hand with his knife. Garrosh shouts and drops one axe, backing up to assess the damage. He's bleeding, and his glove is ruined, but as he flexes his hand it seems to be intact. Varian scowls at Garrosh's relieved grin. Wishes he'd managed to take the whole hand off.

He tries again, distracting Garrosh with an obvious move, telegraphing in every action that he means to run him through. Garrosh blocks, just as Varian wants, and Varian goes to stab at his uninjured hand. To Varian's surprise, Garrosh predicts that too. He grabs the knife by the blade, wrenching it away from Varian and tossing it to the side. Both gloves are a loss, and he drops them to the ground, but they're thick enough that his cuts are only superficial.

Varian jumps back, putting some distance between them to figure out what to do next. Partially disarmed and unarmored, it's not looking great, but Garrosh is in a similar state. If he can just get rid of the second axe. Varian grips the bottom edge of his scale mail and starts to life it, smirking as Garrosh's eyes widen in confusion. With a quick mental thanks to Valeera, Varian takes hold of another knife, takes aim, and throws it at Garrosh's arm.

Instinct and training kicks in, even as Garrosh's brain is otherwise occupied, and he knocks the knife to the side. Varian pulls a second knife from under his mail, and Garrosh deflects that one too.

“How many more of those do you have on you?” Garrosh asks.

“Wouldn't you like to know.” Varian doesn't produce another knife, though, instead coming at Garrosh again with what's left of his sword. Garrosh raises his axe to block and

Snap.

Varian can't help but grin as he embeds Shalamayne in the wooden handle of Garrosh's axe. It doesn't cut clean through, but it cuts _enough_ , and Varian steadies himself to pull it out.

To try and pull it out.

To fail to pull it out.

Another tug, and it's Garrosh's turn to grin. Shalamayne is stuck. Garrosh gives his axe a powerful yank, pulling the sword from Varian's hands, then slams it forward again, hitting Varian in the stomach with the pommel of his own blade. He doubles over in pain, clutching at himself as Garrosh's axe finally breaks, dropping his sword to the ground. Garrosh tosses the broken halves of his axe to the sides, but before he can follow up on a weakened Varian, Varian's straightening up to tackle him.

They roll across the ground, uncaring of the frozen snow below them. Garrosh tries to stand, and Varian kicks out a leg, sweeps his feet out from under him. Disarmed, they beat each other with their fists, with elbows and knees and anything that'll hurt. It's messy and feral and scrappy with no rules at all, and Varian tries to direct the fight inside, into the cover of the forge, looking for a weapon: an abandoned sword, a poker for the fires, anything.

There's nothing, at least not in the open like this, and with a solid kick Varian sends Garrosh crashing through a locked door. It leads to some sort of office, a plush rug on the floor catching Garrosh as he falls. He follows, and again, Varian gets Garrosh on the ground, on his stomach this time. Varian climbs up on top of him, sitting on his back and squeezing Garrosh's arms to his sides with his legs. Again he commands Garrosh: "Yield."

Garrosh is about to start struggling, Varian can sense it in the way his muscles tighten at once below him, so he clamps a hand down on the back of Garrosh's neck, forces his face into the floor, and growls right in his ear, "Yield to me."

And Garrosh, just for a split second, does.

He doesn't mean to go limp, he recovers, hoping it was quick enough Varian didn't notice. But, of course he did. Garrosh can't see it, but Varian cracks a smile up above him, whispers, "Oh," and brings his other hand up to tangle in Garrosh's hair.

Garrosh tries to stifle his moan, tries to make it sound like a grunt of pain, or annoyance, or literally anything else, but then Varian shifts his hips against Garrosh’s back they both freeze, remembering where they are. What they did here.

Varian loosens his grip on Garrosh’s hair, shifts some of his weight off Garrosh’s body, and leans down to whisper in Garrosh’s ear, “Will you yield to me, here? In that way?”

Garrosh stays silent, just breathing, harsh and rapid. He can’t just let Varian _win_ like this. If they fuck, how they fuck doesn’t matter, but his pride stops him admitting defeat to the fight. That is, until Varian’s touch becomes even lighter, like he’s about to stand up, and Garrosh growls in frustration, making Varian hold himself in place.

“Well?” Varian prompts.

Garrosh squeezes his eyes closed, still worked up from the fight. He’s sore and aching already, what do a few more bruises matter? “I yield,” he whispers.

“What was that?” Varian tries to keep the grin out of his voice, but judging by Garrosh’s groan, he doesn’t quite manage it.

“I yield,” Garrosh says, louder, tensing up again.

All at once, Varian’s back on him. Varian’s hand clenches in his hair, Varian’s legs tense, pinning Garrosh’s arms back in place below them, Varian’s weight settles fully on top of Garrosh again.

And Garrosh goes limp again, anticipation thrumming through him. He’s well and truly caught. Varian moans above him, still holding onto Garrosh, still forcing his face to the ground, and slides down Garrosh's body, slotting his hips as best he can against Garrosh's ass, and starts to rock against him.

This time, when Garrosh moans, he barely even tries to hide it. He should feel angry, ashamed, furious at the human king using him like this, and somewhere deep inside, he does. But mostly he just feels warm. Too warm. They were fighting and sweating and now Varian's plastered all along his back and it's _hot_ and Garrosh feels like he's burning up.

“Undress me,” Garrosh growls, lifting his hips and trying to slide his hands underneath himself to loosen his leggings. “Undress yourself, I don't care, just let me feel—”

Varian sits up on Garrosh's thighs and grabs his wrists, pinning them by Garrosh's sides. Garrosh struggles, and Varian slides back up his body to whisper in his ear, a command, “Yield.”

Garrosh shudders, letting out a soft moan despite himself, and stops fighting, waiting to see what Varian will do.

What Varian does is grip the waistband of Garrosh's pants and pull, sliding it down, over his ass to rest along his thighs. “Take off your codpiece,” he rasps.

“My what?”

«Your dick armor,» Varian spits, «take it off.»

Garrosh's breath stutters as he reaches beneath himself. Varian sits up enough to give him space, and to do the same. When he comes back, Garrosh lets out a soft moan at the hot flesh pressed against him. Sliding against him. He tries to shift to touch himself, and Varian pins his wrists again.

Garrosh struggles, more out of habit than any real desire to escape, and when Varian's grip just tightens, he struggles again to hear Varian growl in frustration, to feel the stutter of his hips, of his cock.

Varian gives Garrosh's wrists a final warning squeeze before scratching his way up Garrosh's arms, rewarding him with a soothing touch on the way back down when Garrosh stays put. He gets into a rhythm, then, rubbing himself off against Garrosh. His cock fits snug against Garrosh's ass, teasing at more.

And more is what Varian wants. It's not enough, like this. Varian grips Garrosh’s ass with both hands, spreading the muscles, sliding his cock along the center. “Just how much of yourself would you yield to me? How easily?” he breathes.

Garrosh, to Varian’s surprise, just laughs. “I’ve let my own soldiers fuck me. I enjoy it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Varian stops, his hips slowing, then stilling completely. “Your soldiers? You’re not worried about...after?”

«You humans have such weird hangups about this kind of thing.» Garrosh shifts his hips, rocking Varian on his thighs. “Are you going to talk, or are you going to fuck me?”

Varian groans, sliding his hands across Garrosh’s ass again, up his back, down his arms, before reaching them up to pin his wrists. “No lube,” he sighs. “Didn’t bring any. I didn't expect—didn’t plan for—this.”

Garrosh's back flexes as he arches as best he can under Varian, rubbing his ass back against Varian's cock. “Next time, then.”

“Next time?” It's one thing to fight until they fuck, rage burning off into something else, but to actually plan for another time when Varian hadn't even planned for there to be a first. A second.

Garrosh stays silent, turning his face away. His legs, however, tense under Varian as he continues moving against him.

“Have you been thinking of me so much?” Varian laughs to cover his nerves. This is treason, but after his recent past, excusable. To plan for it again? To fully and consciously _decide_ to continue? But how much of a betrayal is it really if the only one he's harming is himself?

Garrosh stills for a long moment, thoughts traveling in the same direction as Varian's, but recovers himself. “If you're doing me, I'm doing you too.”

It's Varian's turn to hesitate, then. But Garrosh feels so good underneath him. Warm and firm. He rolls his hips down. He doesn't think, doesn't consider the consequences in that moment, only feels. Imagines how that would feel above him. Inside him. _Oh, yes,_ he decides. “Fine.”

Garrosh smirks, starting to move again. “It's only fair. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two about honor, since you humans seem to lack it completely.”

“I already said _fine._ Don't make me take it back.” As if he could.

“Let go of my hands, then.” Garrosh flexes his arms in Varian's grip, squirming underneath him to feel Varian's cock leave a slick trail across his ass. “Prove to me you can be a _considerate_ fuck before I let you do anything more to me.”

Varian just tightens his grip, tenses his thighs as he rubs himself across Garrosh once more. “Why should I do that?” he asks, falling back into their rhythm, antagonizing Garrosh for the fun of it.

“Fine, then. _You_ touch me.” Garrosh tries to lift himself up, to make room below him for Varian's hand.

Varian just puts more of his weight on Garrosh, forcing him back to the ground. “I don't think so.”

“Varian!”

“You insult me, you insult my honor, why should I let you come?” Varian doesn't plan to leave him wanting, in the end. But it's so easy to rile him up, he can't resist.

Garrosh growls, shaking with fury. With need. “Lo'Gosh,” he tries.

But Varian is relentless. “What have you done to deserve it?”

Garrosh bucks beneath Varian, desperate.“I yielded to you!”

“Not without a fight,” Varian snaps.

Garrosh huffs and calms himself again. If Varian doesn’t want him to fight, then…he feels himself flush as he admits,“I can…pleasure you.”

Varian sucks in a sharp breath at that. Ideas flood his mind as his cock throbs. But still, he’s not here to be nice to Garrosh. He came for a fight, and he’s going to _win_. “I can pleasure myself just fine whether I make you come or not,” he sneers.

“You wouldn't dare!” Garrosh struggles again, but Varian’s ready for it and holds him down.

“Still, you fight me,” Varian sighs, mock sadness not quite covering his excitement.

“Touch me and I'll stop!”

“Stop and I'll touch you!”

They pause for a moment, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing, tinged with growls as Varian tightens his hands on Garrosh's wrists.

“Do as I say,” Varian growls

“Make me.”

“What?”

“You want me to stop fighting you? You want me to not touch myself? _Make_ me,” Garrosh repeats.

Varian groans, lowering his head to rest against Garrosh's back. “Yes,” he says, understanding setting in, then, “alright.”

Garrosh gives a surprised shout as Varian yanks both of his arms, pulling them behind his back, forcing his head down.

“You still want to fight me, now?”

Garrosh struggles, but he can't free himself. Not without dislocating a shoulder, and that isn't something he wants to explain to the healers when he gets back. Varian gathers his wrists in one hand and slides the other slowly, giving him time to pull away, up to Garrosh's throat. _If he gets back_ , comes the irrational thought. Varian wants him dead, but not like this.

“Tell me,” Varian whispers above him, “Tell me why you're not trying to escape anymore.” He wants to hear it. Needs to hear Garrosh submitting to him. Again, over and over, as many times as he can.

“I can't,” Garrosh admits.

“Why?” Varian presses.

“My arms--the way you're holding them--they're stuck. I can't fight like this.” He can barely think, either. Caught in Varian’s grasp, with a hand on his throat and a cock on his ass, Garrosh wants nothing more than to touch himself, to have just a fraction of what Varian’s getting out of using his body.

“You could still get away,” Varian says, even as his fingers dig into Garrosh’s throat. “Why aren't you even trying?”

“Because…” Garrosh pauses, breathing harsh. His pulse beats strong against Varian's  palm. “Because…”

“Why are you letting me—”

“I'm not _letting_ you do shit!”

Varian's silent behind him, besides for his harsh breaths and the stutter of his hips.

“I'm not letting you—you beat me, alright? Is that what you want to hear? You won and I lost and now I'm. Here. And I just want you to touch me,” Garrosh admits.

Varian nearly loses it then and there. Garrosh is there because that's where Varian _put_ him. Not because of his status, because of the Wrynn name. Garrosh isn't trying to suck up to him, would never. After being surrounded by nobles looking to get a leg up, longing for the simplicity of a fight, Garrosh's willingness to give him just that, his obstinance, is refreshing, in a way Varian tries not to think too hard about. He focuses on the present, on the thrill running through him at every one of Garrosh's admissions.

And of course, Varian can't resist the predictable response: “I'm already touching you.”

Garrosh lets out a pitiful groan, shifting his hips but finding no release. «My dick,» he whispers, hoarse. «Touch my dick.»

Varian just lays himself more fully across Garrosh, absently grinding against him as he tightens the hand on Garrosh's throat a fraction. “My hands are otherwise occupied, unfortunately.” Varian digs his nails into Garrosh's wrists for emphasis.

«I’ll hold my hands in place,» Garrosh mutters, reluctant. «I won’t fight you. I’ll do as you say.»

Varian moans, low and soft. “Are you really so desperate?”

«How are you not?»

“I possess a measure of self control,” Varian lies.

Varian feels Garrosh take a deep breath under him, long and shuddering and tinged with a whine. «Please,» he says. «Please touch me.»

Varian releases his grip on Garrosh's throat to hold both wrists again, pulling his arms forward and pinning his hands near his shoulders. “Keep them there.”

Garrosh nods, frantic, strands of hair falling forward over his face.

Varian grabs his hips, hauling Garrosh’s ass up as he kneels behind him. Varian grips his own cock, smearing the head over Garrosh’s ass, teasing at his hole. He won’t fuck him here, not just yet, but the promise of it makes them both moan. He moves on, his cock leaving a wet trail of precome as he settles it between Garrosh’s cheeks before leaning forward to smother himself over Garrosh’s warm back, a reprieve from the cold outside.

Garrosh struggles to hold still, his hands clenching into fists in the carpet below him. Varian still isn’t touching him, still won’t give him relief, and his cock aches. «Varian, Lo'Gosh, please!» He lifts one hand, just to slap it back down on the floor with a groan as he works to follow Varian’s command.

Varian sighs behind him, “Don’t you dare move,” and touches Garrosh's balls, so close to where he needs it, but not close enough. Garrosh’s whole body jerks and he lets out a harsh cry, but his hands stay put as Varian teases him. He brushes his thumb along the back, teasing at Garrosh’s perineum before sliding up to press at the edge of his asshole again.

Garrosh starts shaking when Varian gives his balls a gentle squeeze, his fingertips nearly brushing the base of his cock. «Stop teasing! I need to come!» Garrosh shouts, but still, he makes no move to touch himself.

Varian reaches his other hand around to slide across Garrosh's lower belly, the other coming up from Garrosh’s balls so he can frame his dick with both hands. “Why should I let you?” Varian asks, and scratches at the skin of Garrosh’s inner thighs.

Garrosh is too far gone to respond. He just keeps begging. «I need to come, please, come on, just touch me, let me finish,» making Varian moan. In this moment, nothing else matters. Garrosh has given himself over to Varian’s control, and despite his hatred, Varian has always considered himself a benevolent ruler. He grips Garrosh’s cock with both hands, firm, and Garrosh screams.

It barely takes a moment, just a few harsh tugs and Garrosh comes with a whimper, something Varian files away to mock him with later. And yet, as Garrosh shudders below him, gasping for air as his legs give out and he collapses to the floor, Varian can barely fight to contain his own sounds as he wraps a hand around his own cock and starts jacking it. It’s wetter than it should be, and when Varian manages to tear his eyes away from the sight of Garrosh, sprawled and sated beneath him, he sees why: Garrosh’s come on his hand, on his cock, slicking the way and making Varian curse and come, sooner than he expected. There’s a weak groan from below him as it marks Garrosh’s back, Garrosh’s ass.

Varian collapses as well, then, breathing heavily and letting himself fall to the side of Garrosh to avoid landing in his own mess. He wipes what’s left on his hand on Garrosh’s bare thigh.

“Hey!” Garrosh kicks his leg out, halfheartedly getting Varian with his knee.

“Shut up.” Varian grabs Garrosh’s knee, wiping his hand again there.

“Are you going to do that every time?” Garrosh groans and tries to roll over, but grimaces as Varian’s come slides over his ass with the movement and lays back down on his front.

Varian scoffs. “Don’t make so much of a mess on me and I won’t leave it on you.”

“You’re telling _me_ not to make so much of a mess on _you?_ After what you just did to me?”

Varian just punches Garrosh in the shoulder. Garrosh punches him back, but Varian finds himself unable to rise to the challenge, too sated, to bruised, too tired. He rolls out of Garrosh’s range and sits up, taking in the trail of destruction and pieces of armor they’ve left behind. “Fuck,” he sighs, and gets up to start collecting his belongings. The effort of their fight, the effort of their fuck, starts to set in as he does, and he groans as he finally becomes aware of the cuts Garrosh has given him. He rights what little clothing he left on only for it to scrape across the freshly forming scabs, and grimaces at the thought of putting his armor back on over that.

As he goes about dressing, he tosses whatever parts of Garrosh’s armor he can find in his general direction. Each time he hopes to hear one connect, but either his aim is off or Garrosh is up and moving about as well. He manages the whole process without looking back once, without acknowledging the fatigue in his legs or the shaking of his hands or the promise of another meeting. His gryphon lands, but just before he can mount it, Varian can’t resist one look back.

Garrosh is mostly dressed, as much as he can be with his clothes torn and armor dented. He looks like he’s been in a fight, which, Varian thinks, is close enough to the truth. He probably doesn’t look much better. Varian waits for Garrosh to catch his eye before he mounts up, and says, just before flying off, “I won that fight.”


	5. Another First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there are some cultural differences between Azeroth and Outland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new work title AGAIN (sorry) but I think I found one that'll stick this time. Can't go wrong with song lyrics. From "Wolves Without Teeth" by Of Monsters and Men.

They meet again and again, their encounters growing more frequent and more risky. Varian leaves it to his advisors to sort out the village and living accommodations for his people. Or rather, Lo'Gosh does, bored to death of politics. He seeks out Garrosh, rather on purpose or by coincidence he doesn't know, and tries not to think about it. Garrosh seems to seek him out just as often, which he tries to think about even less.

Their trysts are quick things. A fight, snarling and frotting and scratching until they come. Break apart, and repeat. They remember their promise, but the timing never seems right. Varian wants it. Wants the heat and heft of a cock inside him. Usually, he'd go to Broll. Or else Valeera, with her relentless fingers, though he prefers when he can have the both of them together. Before that, his wife had a collection of toys and accommodating tastes. But Tiffin is gone and Broll and Valeera aren't here right now, leaving Varian on edge and wanting. And even before that, fantasies of another young prince—fantasies best left behind, especially here.

He thinks of Garrosh. He's felt the size of him in his hand. It's a good size. Thick, like the rest of him. Their next meeting, Varian resolves to do something about it.

* * *

 

They fight, as usual, straying from the tournament grounds as they go. No one follows them anymore. Not since Varian nearly took Thrall’s head off and growled a reminder that he'd been spared only because of Varian's promise to Jaina. Not since Garrosh came too close to a fatal hit once and found himself encased in ice, reminded of his promise to Thrall as Jaina thawed only what he would need to stay alive and left him as Varian laughed. After that, every time they've come back alive. Battered, beaten, and bruised, but alive. As much as they want the other gone, they're too aware of the consequences to follow through. For now, at least.

Garrosh leads Varian to a convenient crack in the icy mountainside, and Varian pulls him into the small cave. He doesn't even bother to keep up the pretense of the fight, just drops his sword and strips off his armor.

“I’m going to do something, and you’re going to think it’s for you,” Varian says. “It’s not. I’m doing this because it’s what _I want_ to do.” Varian pushes Garrosh against the wall, hands firm on his shoulders, then his hips, holding him in place as Varian sinks to his knees.

“Never thought I'd see you kneel for me so easily,” Garrosh says with a smirk. He tosses his own armor aside as Varian works on the lacings of his pants.

“I told you, this is for _me_.” Varian can't seem to hit the imperious tone he's looking for, his voice going thick and his eyes dropping to Garrosh's cock in front of him.  He gives it a stroke, making Garrosh let out a soft breath, positions it just right and opens his mouth to—

"Woah, stop!” the sudden outburst startles Varian into backing off. “What you doing?” Garrosh struggles in Varian's hold, lifting a foot to press against Varian's stomach, ready to kick him away.

Varian looks up to Garrosh's face, his nose wrinkling in a snarl. He needs this, has been craving it for far too long. His hand stays put on Garrosh's cock. “I'm going to suck it.”

Garrosh pushes harder against him. “What?”

Varian pushes back, leaning forward to scowl up at Garrosh. “I'm going to use my mouth. You've heard of a blowjob before, right?”

He has, plenty of rumors about what elves get up to reached his ears when he arrived on Azeroth, but Garrosh never saw the appeal. “But your _teeth!”_ Garrosh says, by way of explanation.

“I'm human. No tusks. I can just cover them with my lips.” Rolling his eyes, Varian opens his mouth for Garrosh to see, and Garrosh gasps.

“They're _flat!”_ Garrosh shouts, and Varian feels him tense up, surprised. His foot slides away from Varian’s chest and he falls forward before catching himself.

“Of course they're _flat,_ what else would they be?”

Garrosh opens his mouth, and Varian leans back in shock. He knew orcs had sharper teeth than humans, but never really bothered to look closer than a glance. Garrosh doesn't just have tusks, he has _fangs,_ his upper teeth just as large and pointed as his inner set of tusks.

Varian slowly places a hand over his crotch, any fantasies about that mouth coming to an abrupt end. Not that he'd admit having them in the first place. “Fuck.” Then, “How have you not bitten off your own tongue?”

Garrosh laughs, leaning back against the wall. “You let me worry about that.” He crosses his arms in front of himself and frowns down at Varian. “For now, let’s see if you can prove to me why anyone bothers with such a strange act.”

Varian smirks and repositions himself, one hand on Garrosh's hip, the other stroking Garrosh's cock and angling it towards his waiting mouth. He starts out slow, giving Garrosh a long lick around the head that makes him gasp and squirm in Varian's grip. Varian opens his mouth wider to take Garrosh inside, and Garrosh fists a hand in his hair, jerking him back.

“If you try to bite me,” Garrosh says, tugging his hair again to make sure he has Varian's attention, “I'll snap your neck.”

Varian licks his lips, his eyes darting between Garrosh's cock and his face. “Once I get going, you won't be able to think straight enough to kill me.” He strokes Garrosh's cock again, slow and firm.

“Don't bite,” Garrosh repeats. He pulls at Varian's hair one last time before he releases his grip.

“You can keep your hand there,” Varian says, almost casually. He likes having his hair pulled too much to keep the excitement out of his voice entirely. “You might need something to hold on to.” And then he's taking Garrosh's cock into his mouth, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling. His tongue squirms against the underside, and he moans as Garrosh can't help but thrust forward with a grunt.

Varian's hand, wrapped around the base of Garrosh's cock, keeps him from taking too much and choking. This is what he's been wanting, what he's been needing. He savors the stretch of his lips around Garrosh's girth, closing his eyes and relishing in Garrosh's hips fighting against his hand pinning them in place.

Varian doesn't go for speed or depth, barely even sucks, just slowly, luxuriously, working himself around the end of Garrosh's cock. His tongue teases at the underside and Garrosh's hand takes hold of his hair once more. Varian's not even trying to make it good for Garrosh, like he said, it's for himself, but Garrosh's eager moaning betrays his enjoyment anyway.

Garrosh's hand rests on Varian's head, tangled in his hair but not tugging or pulling, like he doesn't know what else to do with it. Which, Varian realizes, he probably doesn't. This is his first time, his first blowjob. _Varian_ is his _first_ —he shuts that line of thought down before it can take him somewhere he doesn't want to go. Ever. Instead, he begins to move with more intent, taking Garrosh's cock deeper into his mouth before pulling off with a harsh suck. Varian repeats the motion a few times, waiting for Garrosh to start to force him into a rhythm. Garrosh's hand tightens in his hair, but otherwise makes no move to control the pace.

Garrosh understands, now, what the appeal is. Why the blood elves and goblins he's talked with love it so much. It's like nothing he's ever felt before. Varian's right—not that he'd ever admit it—he can barely string two thoughts together besides for _good_ and _hot_ and _more_ . He can't even think straight enough to move his body. Does Varian expect him to fuck his mouth like he would his ass? Why did Varian tell him to hold on? Why to his hair? Garrosh can't find any answers, too consumed by the _hot wet tight good_ of Varian's mouth and hands.

Varian stops restraining Garrosh, moving the hand that has been holding him still to join the other already on his cock. He keeps one near his mouth so that when Garrosh thrusts forward he won't choke—except Garrosh doesn't. He's just standing there, leaning, really, where Varian put him, trembling and tensing as Varian works at him. His eyes are closed and he lifts a hand to his open mouth, trying to smother a moan.

Varian treats Garrosh to a strong suck, then, as if a reward for his good behavior. Garrosh shouts at that, and Varian feels his thighs tense and start to shake shere he kneels between them. He sucks again, light but fast, a quick succession of pleasure jolting through Garrosh and making him _whimper_.

Garrosh's breathing picks up until it seems he's going to faint. He sucks in one decent breath to gasp, “Stop!”

Varian pulls off, slowly, his attention caught by the wet string still connecting his lips to Garrosh's cock. He leans in and licks it up without thinking.

“I said stop, damn it!” Garrosh finally uses the hold he has on Varian's hair to yank his head back, _hard_.

Before he can stop himself, Varian's moaning, loud and unashamed. Garrosh makes a disgusted noise and lets go, kicking Varian in the chest to get him away. That snaps him out of his daze. “Why the fuck should I _stop_?”

Garrosh takes a moment to answer, his gaze darting around to look anywhere but Varian. He crosses his arms and tips his head up and says to the ceiling, “I'm going to come.”

Varian can't help but laugh. Garrosh is going to come from a subpar blowjob. He hasn't even been trying to impress him! If this is how he reacts, Varian can't wait to pull out all the stops on him next time—next time? Can't wait? His thoughts come crashing to a halt just in time for Garrosh to distract him.

“You can't use your mouth anymore.” Garrosh says, now to somewhere between the ceiling and the top of Varian's head.

That brings Varian back to the present. He _wants_ to use his mouth. Who is Garrosh to deny him this? Garrosh, who had been so clearly enjoying it. “Why. The fuck. Not.” Varian grinds out.

Garrosh shivvers under him, just for a moment before he gathers himself, still unable to look Varian in the eye. “Because I'm going to—I told you, I'm going to come. What are you going to do with…” Garrosh pauses, finally looking down at Varian. “You know,” he says, and his ears flatten back against his head like an angry wolf. “ _It_.”

Varian stares at him, stunned, eyes wide and mouth agape. He's too shocked to laugh again at the sudden reminder of Garrosh's inexperience. “I was just going to swallow it,” Varian says, completely earnest.

“What?”

“It's less of a mess that way,” Varian shrugs.

Garrosh just raises a brow at the spit coating Varian's chin, all around his mouth.

Varian refuses to feel ashamed of it. So maybe he doesn't mind a little mess. It's just part of the process. “Besides,” he adds, “I'm not going to treat you to the sight of your come on my face.”

“You're willing to taste—”

“Of course not. Would you quit it and let me finish?” Varian smacks his hand lightly against Garrosh’s thigh.

“But how—”

“Fuck! Garrosh!” Varian smacks him again, harder. “I'll put your cock in the back of my mouth when you come. Then it'll just go down my throat and I don't have to worry about heading back to camp and risking someone seeing the human king of Stormwind with orcish come on him. Shit! Are you fucking done?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?!”

“There's one more thing.”

And with that, Garrosh reaches down to grab at Varian's hair, taking a big chunk and pulling, hard, baring Varian's throat to him as Varian can't help but moan. His eyes close and his breath stutters as Garrosh does it again before releasing him.

“Alright, now I'm done.”

Varian wants to snap back, but Garrosh's cock is still hard, still right there, and his scalp is tingling pleasantly and his muscles ache and he's too far gone, too horny-stupid to do anything besides pick up where he left off. With Garrosh backed down from the edge, Varian sets to work getting him there again. He takes more of Garrosh's cock this time, a tease at how he plans to finish him off, the head nudging at the back of Varian's throat, though he doesn't let it enter. He moans around it and takes one hand off Garrosh's cock to press against his own through his clothes.

“You like this that much?” Garrosh asks from above him.

Varian scowls as much as he can with a cock in his mouth, mostly using his eyebrows to convey _shut up_. He does stop touching himself, though. He won't give Garrosh that satisfaction. And besides, if Garrosh is coherent enough to mock him, Varian decides he needs to concentrate more on his task. He reaches around Garrosh to grip his ass in both hands, using the leverage to pull Garrosh closer to him as he sinks further on to Garrosh's cock. It nudges his throat again and Varian breathes through it, swallowing down the urge to pull away.

Beneath him, Garrosh starts to tremble again. His thighs twitch unpredictably and his breathing goes lighter as Varian holds him there, then he's whining as Varian pulls back to work the head of his cock again. The reprieve barely lasts for a moment before Varian's plunging back down, the hot clutch of his throat around Garrosh's cock making him shout. His legs feel weak, and as Varian's kneading hands spread his ass Garrosh doubles over, supporting himself with hands on Varian's shoulders as his focus narrows to his cock, as his whole world becomes Varian's mouth and hands.

Varian can tell Garrosh is about to come, by the way he shakes in his grip, by the way his hands squeeze tight on Varian's shoulders, by the way he pants like he's going to pass out, each breath tinged with a whine. Normally he'd be furious with himself for having learned Garrosh's tells so intimately, but normally, he isn't so desperate for a cock in him. It's going to be over too soon, but Varian supposes he can mock Garrosh for that later, which almost makes up for it. Garrosh starts tensing up again, and Varian shoves forward, working his throat around Garrosh's cock and making him come with a surprised shout. Garrosh's eyes fly open like he isn’t expecting to finish so early before closing and accepting it, riding out the last of his orgasm as Varian swallows around him.

He’s breathing hard as he finishes, and Garrosh curses as Varian doesn’t let up, instead sucking him again as Garrosh softens inside him. Garrosh lifts a hand from Varian's shoulder to push him away and instead loses his balance on weak legs and topples over to one side. He manages to catch himself in a sitting position and lets out a long breath, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his cock, not pressing, just protecting. “Fuck,” he says.

Varian can't help a smile as he gathers up his hair, re-tying it in some semblance of order.

“Why,” Garrosh starts, and shudders as an aftershock races through him. “In your language,” he tries again, “Cocksucker. It means someone who does this?”

“Yes?”

Garrosh's brows furrow. “Why is that an _insult_?”

Varian laughs as he stretches his legs out in front of him, rubbing his sore knees. “Careful, Garrosh. That's almost a compliment.” He wipes his mouth with his shirt sleeve, before reaching for his armor to cover it.

Garrosh just huffs as he tucks his cock away. He stands, still clothed but without armor, and offers a hand to Varian. “How do you want it, then?”

Varian stares for a moment before accepting the help. For once, Lo'Gosh seems to have been exhausted into quietness. “What do you mean?”

Garrosh frowns, his eyes dropping to Varian's erection, still straining against his pants.

“I'm fine,” Varian says, and really, he is. He's still hard, but he's been satisfied. His lips tingle pleasantly from the stretch and his whole body feels warm. He's fine. He's _great_.

“You didn't—”

“It's fine,” Varian insists. There honestly isn't anything he wants right now. Maybe later he'll need to bring himself off, and he'll deny it's to this memory, but for now? He's done. He's finished. And he's happy with that. He bends to pick up another bit of armor, slowly reassembling himself.

Garrosh, however, is anything but happy. His hands clench into fists by his sides as he watches Varian dress and a scowl twists his features. “It's not fine!” He shouts. “It's not honorable for me to leave you wanting!”

“I'm not wanting!” Varian shouts back. “I _wanted_ to suck a dick, and I did!” His face heats at the admission, but he blames it on the lingering satisfaction and arousal. In any case, he turns away to pick up some of Garrosh's armor for him.

“You can't be serious—”

“Stop it.” Varian says, unwilling  to have his good mood spoiled. He makes his way over to Garrosh and gets up close to him, nearly touching. “How about this,” he says. “You'll owe me one.” Varian gives Garrosh's cock a gentle pat through his clothes, delighting in the way he shivers.

“I don't want to owe you anything,” Garrosh protests, but it's weak, his voice going airy as Varian gives him a firmer squeeze.

“Too bad,” Varian says, and slams Garrosh’s chestpiece onto him, knocking his breath away. “I’m leaving first,” he says as he starts towards the mouth of the cave.

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“We don't look like we've been fighting.”

Varian lets out a deep sigh before he turns back around. Garrosh has mostly reassembled himself, so Varian chooses his face to slam his fist into. The claws on his gauntlets catch and scratch across it, and around his his eye is already swelling. Varian smiles at his handiwork. “There. I won.”

“As if I would let you win,” Garrosh says, and before Varian can dodge away, lands a solid kick to his side, his metal boot denting Varian's armor. “And I didn't even have to go for the face.”

Varian rushes Garrosh again, missing this time as Garrosh dodges to the side and pushes Varian into the wall of the cave. His head hits hard, but he comes away scowling and spitting with nothing more than a split lip to show for it. He uses his leverage against Garrosh, pushing off the wall to headbutt him, dazing them both and knocking them apart.

Garrosh reaches to pick his ax up off the ground, but before he can, Varian's on him with a knife at his throat.

Of course. Damn that man and his roguish friends. “How many of those do you _have_?”

“Enough to kill you several times over,” Varian growls, and presses the flat of the blade hard against Garrosh's throat, as much as he can without drawing blood.

Garrosh just leans forward into it, unintimidated. “Do it. Release me.” from his life, from his debt, from the freezing cold outside, it doesn't matter. He's wanted it for so long, he may as well provoke Varian into it now and get it over with. «Kill me with my come still inside you.»

Varian roars as he slams the knife down, slicing deep into Garrosh's thigh. It's an ugly, inelegant wound, bleeding sluggishly as whether by luck or by purpose, Varian misses hitting anything too critical.

By luck, Garrosh thinks, as Varian's eyes go wide for just a moment and his breathing stutters. His hand comes off the blade, slowly, one finger at a time, and he stands.

“I trust you know not to take that out until you get to your healers.” Varian takes a step back and seems to recover himself, but still won't look Garrosh in the eyes. “Unless, of course, you'd like to do me a favor and bleed to death.”


End file.
